


Warriors

by JensenAckles13



Category: WinterIron - Fandom
Genre: Also some fluff, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Language, M/M, Mini Bang 2016, Smut, So much angst, Tags May Change, Winteriron Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensenAckles13/pseuds/JensenAckles13
Summary: No one heard them.And no one knew they were coming.When the Chitauri attack, the plains of the planet become a battleground- people get hurt, they die, they’re gone, you’re alone.Sometimes Tony wonders if he’s the last human on earth.Sometimes, he hopes he is.At least that way, he’ll know exactly who he’s fighting for. He’ll know he fought the good fight, he’ll know that those billions of lives lost are the reason he’s going to blow those alien fuckers to pieces.And when he dies, he’ll know he made a difference.





	Warriors

**Author's Note:**

> Fanmix by Bohemu on Tumblr: http://8tracks.com/bohemu/melded

_“so what if the ground beneath your feet burns?_

_what if the sky above your head crumbles down?_  
_what if the seas dry up and the rivers wither?_ _  
_ what if the world is dead and reborn?

 _so what if everyone you know disappears,_  
_what if you sleep for a thousand years,_  
_what if everything around you is new and changed?_ _  
_ what if you die?

 _the earth still spins, the sun still burns._  
_blood is still as red as it ever was._  
_you have a new name, a new face,_ _  
_ But you are still here.

 _Man never changes-_  
_and so War never does, either._  
_War never disappears-_ _  
_ and so we never do, either.

 _Darling, don’t you remember?_  
_We’ve fought this fight before._  
_We’ve seen this battle a hundred times._  
_We’ve stood on the same battlefield,_  
_spilled the same blood,_  
_wrought the same destruction,_  
_heralded the same apocalypse-_  
_and we’ll do it again a thousand times._ _  
_ -whoever heard of a warrior finding peace?”

 _-Pencap: J.P (_ [ _Link To Poem_ ](http://pencap.tumblr.com/post/142267692335/so-what-if-the-ground-beneath-your-feet-burns))

 

_*_

_Fingers dug into his hips, bruises blossoming, skin scorching._

_Lips mashed together messily, far too gone with passion to hold any sort of coordination._

_Arched back, legs wrapped around a slim waist, fingers tangled in thick brown locks, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut._

_A warm mouth trailing hot kisses down his throat, his chest, biting gently at a peaked nipple._

_“Ah, James!” Tony cried as one particular thrust drove hard into his sweet spot._

_James grinned, predatory, and did it again, over and over again with deadly accuracy until Tony was squirming, whether to get away or to get closer, he wasn’t sure._

_“Please, pleasepleaseplease,” Tony gasped; he was close, so close, he just needed-_

_James’ hand closed around his cock, and that was it- he spilled all over James’ hand, went boneless as James chased his own release._

_After, James wrapped himself around Tony, one arm slung across his stomach and tugging him closer until he fit perfectly into the grooves of James’ body, James peppering gentle kisses along the nape of his neck before whispering,_

_“I love you, Tony.”_

_Tony smiled to himself, murmured a quiet “love you too” before snuggling closer to the warmth of James’ body, letting himself drift off._

_Held safely and securely in James’ arms, with hot breath puffing across the back of his neck and James’ words ringing in his ears, Tony had never felt so happy._

_*_

Tony awoke with a gasp, hands reaching out for someone who wasn’t there, who hadn’t been there for months.

Meeting James had been one of the best experiences of his life, something he'd happily have gone through all the challenges life had thrown at him all over again if only it ensured he’d keep the good (for once in his life, let him keep it).

He remembered past relationships- people he'd thought he had loved or who had loved him, using him for money or fame- he was a Stark, people used him and left him. He had come to expect it, at that point; that’s all he’d ever known.

But then there was James, young, naive James who didn't know (didn't care?) about the baggage Tony carried on his shoulders as if it had been chained there, weighing him down each and every step he took.

And without either of them realizing it, James had lifted the weight from his worn body and shouldered it, helping him carry it. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone.

Logically, he knew he had a soulmate; his soulmark, tattooed across his inner wrist, told him that much. He’d stare at it, let his fingers run across it in times of stress, faithful in his belief that, even if he felt alone, there was always going to be _someone_ out there for him.

He remembered hearing James speak those words for the first time, the ones tattooed across his wrist, and he remembered he couldn’t breathe (“I’ve been waiting for you, doll”).

Tony had stared, gasped out “I can’t breathe” and fled.

That, of course, hadn’t gone over well.

He remembered the lack of trust, the animosity, the tension-turned-sexual-tension, which all lead up to one angry fuck session in the lab after a mission gone wrong.

But then, then there were stolen kisses, and secret dates, and suddenly James had wormed beneath Tony’s skin with no hope of ever leaving.

Tony realized all those little things James did- bringing him food when he forgot to eat, coaxing him out of the lab to shower and sleep, petting his hair when he was feeling tactile and yearning for the touch of his soulmate, yelling at him for being reckless on a mission- those were all the different ways James was saying “I love you”, without actually having to say those three little words.

So he’d pushed his love into kisses and touch, wasn't sure how else to do it when he'd been forced to repress those feelings his entire life lest he be hurt, and suddenly those floodgates had been opened after years of being locked up tight and he was no longer sure how to act or behave, so he did what he did best and didn't say anything about it at all, tried to show rather than tell.

And by some miracle, it worked.

Maybe that was why losing him hurt so bad.

Of course, he knew James wasn’t really dead, would have felt the loss of his second half, but sometimes….sometimes, he thought maybe he was, and Tony was just that terrible a soulmate.

He sank back down into his sleeping bag and stared up at the stars, wrapping his arms around himself to try and stave off the cold, flexing and unflexing his gauntleted fingers, tracing the cold metal up to where it ended at his elbow with his free hand.

Making a fire would’ve been too risky, he knew. It would have been like banging two pots together and shouting “come get me, I’m right here!”

Tony didn’t think he’d been warm since the Chitauri had first taken over.

The funny thing was, Tony had thought everything had been going well.

There hadn’t been any attacks for weeks, the Avengers were taking a well deserved break, and then-

Well.

Then Ultron destroyed Sokovia.

The breaking point came with the introduction of the Geneva Accords. Those damn things had split the Avengers down the middle, with Tony going head-to-head with the good Captain.  
Things went terribly, terribly awry and Tony could do nothing but watch as the team all went their separate ways- and so he found himself alone once again.

The figurative light at the end of the tunnel had never been something he’d imagined having, not until...him.

Of course, he was Tony Stark and if there was one certain thing in his life, it would be that Tony Stark didn’t get to keep the good things.

As much as he loved him, waiting for the other shoe to drop had been second nature.

And it did.

A year and a half later, when the Chitauri returned, taking thousands of lives within the first day of their Arrival.

The first month?  

Millions.

The Chitauri were smart little fuckers, though, and just when everything started to die down and humanity started getting its shit together, the invaders returned to turn everything upside down once again- as if they hadn’t taken enough the first time around.

Tony had been prepared to die- he had nothing left: no friends, no family, no lover...not even his tech had survived.

But then he just...didn’t. And he figured then maybe, maybe it was for a reason.

Maybe someone out there wanted him to do more.

Well, whoever that mother-fucker is owes him a spa-day.

So instead of giving up, he’s fighting.

Maybe he’s the last one on earth, the lone soldier in an endless fucking war, but at least he can say did something to save humanity, even if there wasn’t any of it left to save.

At least he can say he tried.

And really, in a world like this, isn’t that the only thing anyone can do?

Don’t get him wrong- he’s not selfless.

No, he’s a selfish mother-fucker whose only reason for trying might be part of the earth now; he’s fighting for one person.

The one man he lived for and may very well die for.

Tony isn’t noble.

He’s just in love.

Which is why he finds himself rolling up his sleeping bag, tucking it away into his backpack and then stripping, laying his clothes by the lake, on top of the ratty little towel he’d taken from an old convenience store on his last raid, and then stepping into the frigid water, shivering violently as he dunks himself under and then quickly begins scrubbing himself down.

No matter how cold the water, being clean is definitely worth the shivers wracking his frame that don’t die down until he’s finally moving again, dried and dressed with his rifle slung over his shoulder and wool beanie- a lucky find which he’d almost stabbed someone for- pulled low over his ears.

The fingerless glove didn’t really help keep his hand warm, but it was the best he could do if he still wanted the mobility necessary to pull the trigger- the single gauntlet on his left hand made it necessary to keep his right free in order to do so.

The journey has been rough- he’d been in California when the Chitauri first attacked, and James had been in New York.

They’d managed a phone call just before the power lines went down, and agreed to meet somewhere in the middle- Barton’s little Kansas home seemed like a good idea.

Hopefully, others on his team would have thought so, too.

He was getting closer, he knew that much- he’d passed the cheery “Welcome to Kansas!” sign yesterday evening, had found a small lake to rest beside for the night.

He still had a little ways to go- two, maybe three days- until he would reach Barton’s home, and he had yet to run into anyone he recognized.

No Cap, no Natasha, No Barton...he had no idea where anyone was, and no way of finding them.

He had given up on finding them weeks ago. As time wore on, he had found himself closing off, feeling less; in fact, he didn’t think he’d felt anything _real_ since the last time he’d been with James. At least, in his dreams, he could pretend everything hadn’t gone to shit.

At least there, he was safe.

*

_He’s got his arms around Tony’s waist, his chin resting atop Tony’s head, inhaling the scent of motor oil, metal and coconut that were always lingering, nose pressed into the soft tufts of hair as the engineer mumbled something about not firing on all cylinders, and coffee._

_“I think it’s time we get you to bed, baby,” Bucky murmured into Tony’s hair._

_“Can’t,” Tony grumbled. “Gotta finish the upgrades.”_

_“I don’t think Stevie’ll mind waiting another day or two for them,” Bucky replied with a soft smile, arms tightening around the genius’ waist._

_“Mm,” Tony hummed noncommittally, head lolling back against Bucky’s shoulder so he could gaze up at him with half mast, shadowed brown eyes._

_“Alright, c’mon, baby. Let’s go upstairs, hm?”_

_“Don’t wanna,” Tony pouted petulantly, plump bottom lip puffing out, eyes going wide and pleading._

_“You don’t got a choice here, kitten,” Bucky replied, pecking Tony on the lips before sweeping him up into his arms bridal style, grinning smugly at Tony’s yelp of surprised protest._

_“Hey, that’s not fair!” Tony cried. “Mutiny! Mutiny I tell you!”_

_Bucky smirked and leaned over to blow a raspberry on Tony’s nose, laughing at the look of indignant shock on Tony’s face, feeling the urge to kiss it away and giving into it, smiling softly at the way Tony melted into his arms._

_“You play dirty,” Tony murmured from where his face was tucked into Bucky’s neck, breath warm against his skin._

_“Oh, kitten,” Bucky grinned. “That’s the only way_ to _play.”_

*

He remembers his first kiss.

He was seven, it was February of the year 1924, and his mother had just called him in for dinner.

It was a cold day; he remembers because his mother had made him bundle up in his warmest clothes, even though they were too ratty to really keep him warm anyways. They were better than nothing, though. The little that they actually had was better than nothing; their dingy little house, the running water (even if it was cold more often than not) , the home baked bread (that was always warm), the hot chocolate that Stevie’s mom would bring with her whenever she came to visit. He was lucky, he knew, having a best friend who would stay with him ‘till the end of the line (not that he knew that at the time- friendship was coming and going; petty little arguments about who would get to hit the ball first this time around, or who got the last piece of chocolate Mrs. Rogers had given him and his friends to share), even if he was a small, sickly boy who couldn’t come outside when it was like this because the cold made his Asthma flare up, made his lips turn blue and his body tremble violently even though he always had a smile on his gaunt face.

He was alone with her, pretty little Ruby, with her dark hair and her darker eyes. She always wore a little red bow, and Bucky would yell at the other boys who made fun of her for it (his mother had raised him better than that, he would never make fun of her for wearing what she liked).

Bucky had said something, he couldn’t remember what,, and in the midst of their simultaneous giggling, she’d leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He’d blushed so brightly he thought he would scare her away. But she stayed, and things went back  to normal after that.

They didn’t mention it, and it never happened again.

His second kiss was when he was sixteen and convinced something was wrong with him- he liked girls and boys; he wasn’t supposed to like boys, that was wrong.

It was the Fall of 1933, and he and Jason were hiding in the janitor’s closet at school, making out and rutting against each other like animals.

It was quick and fast and messy, over just as fast as it had begun.

They didn’t mention it, and it never happened again.

His third kiss was in the Army- another man, some guy whose name he can’t even remember; “don’t ask, don’t tell”. No one asked, so he didn’t tell.

It was 1939, and he knew he was fucked up, knew something in his brain had gone wrong but he couldn’t find it in himself to care because it felt so good to kiss another man, to feel the roughness of his hands and the rasp of his beard against his cheek.

He told Stevie, of course, because he told Stevie everything; they’d been best friends for years, they didn’t keep secrets.

They didn’t mention it, and it never happened again.

Before he could really grasp what was happening, Steve was Captain America with a new body; a taller, stronger, healthier one, and Bucky was the same old Bucky. Until he wasn’t.

Until he fell of Zola’s train, lost an arm and became the Winter Soldier.

He was never kissed again.

Until he became Bucky again; until Tony Stark came along and healed him; until it was 2014 and he found himself sobbing into the other man’s chest, confessing that he’d killed the genius’s parents and the butler that had been with them. But Tony wasn’t angry.

In the midst of it all, he tilted Bucky’s head up, looked straight into his eyes, and said;

“James, that wasn’t you. I know that wasn’t you, because this is you. This is you,” he put a hand on Bucky’s chest. “And this is us.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky’s lips, slow and careful and testing, like he had forgotten what it was like to feel someone’s lips against his own and it occurred to Bucky that maybe- maybe he had. Maybe Tony was just as broken as he was, just as shattered and hurt but much better at hiding it.

Bucky kissed him back like he was dying, desperate and  needy; the feel of the other’s lips, soft and plump and caring, was almost too much; he’d been starved of touch too long, too much, and it was so beautiful it hurt.

The kiss didn’t stay like that for long; it soon turned feral, all the roughness Bucky had missed, but the gentle undertone remained, never disappearing, not like Bucky thought it would.

Tony Stark kissed like molten lava, all blazing heat and slow destruction. He kissed like a hurricane, breaking through everything keeping him out and away, tearing down all defenses and leaving you raw and aching for more, for less, because it was too much yet not enough. He kissed like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do, like everything in his life had been leading up to this one, single moment, like time itself had stopped to give you what you both so desperately needed.

Tony Stark kissed you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered in the world; when he kissed you, you felt special. You felt like your universe was falling apart.

Tony Stark kissed you like you’d fallen off the edge of the world and he’d followed, like it was the only thing he could do to save you.

Tony Stark kissed you like you were his.

Because in that millisecond, that heartbeat, that moment, that’s exactly what you were.

It took him such a long time to figure out why Tony had wiggled his way into his mind and stayed there; figuring it out was something of a shock, but it made entirely too much sense.

Bucky had been kissed before, but he’d never been kissed like he mattered.

It was simple, if not painful, to admit.

And that was how he’d come to love Tony Stark, not as a friend but as a lover, as someone who was just as broken and shattered, as someone who would lend a hand in putting their cracked pieces back together again; his second half, his soulmate.

Losing Tony had caused all those healed pieces to crack apart again.

Bucky had been in New York, when the Chitauri attacked. Across the entire damn country, with no means to reach Tony quickly.

The phone call between them had given him a little hope, but they hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

Still, Bucky knew, if anyone could survive an alien attack, it would be Tony.

And apart from that, he would have felt his soulmates death so he knew, _knew_ , that Tony was still alive.

It’s hard, the journey from New York to Kansas, fighting off hoards of angry Chitauri- hell, he’d even met a few fellow humans who had joined their cause in “exterminating the human race”. Which made no sense, whatsoever.

Those people had long since been killed.

That was what happened, he supposed, when people stopped trusting each other.

When the Chitauri had first attacked, Natasha and Clint had been off in Budapest on a mission. Bruce was nowhere to be found, Stevie was at Sam’s.

Thor was...actually, he didn’t know where Thor was. Not there, he supposes.

All he knows is that one moment, he’d been curled up on his and Tony’s bed, just about to begin his _Star Wars_ marathon- to Tony’s insistence that it was one of the best things science nerds had so far come up with- when the ceiling came crashing down, raining dirt, dust and concrete in the room.

A moment later, half a dozen Chitauri were standing in his bedroom, staring at him- it took him no more than a second to spring into action, falling easily into his Winter Soldier training and disarming the intruders before killing them, quickly and efficiently, one by one.

He didn’t have much time to be horrified at his antics when he came back- all he knows is he saw red, and then nothing at all, and then blood and bodies.

It was...well. Unnerving to say the least.

He’d immediately put that to the back of his mind, however, and scrambled for the phone, dialing Tony’s number and praying he’d pick up.

“Baby?” Tony asked hurriedly, panic in his voice- which, of course; these fuckers still haunted his genius’ nightmares.

“I’m here, kitten. Are you okay?” He knew he sounded just as frantic, just as panicked but it was _warranted_ , okay, his soulmate was across the country and aliens were attacking.

“Peachy. We need- we need a meeting place, James. Quickly. Kansas, Barton’s stupid little farm house. Okay?”

At the time, he’d felt it odd that that was what Tony chose to lead with.

Later, he’d discovered why- Tony knew, as he always did, that things were going to hell in a handbasket. He’d known they wouldn’t have long, known that was currently the most pressing matter and he’d acted on his intuitions.

Over four weeks later, and he could still hear Tony’s voice, the way it cracked and trembled like the other man was falling apart and had only his own two hands to hold himself together.

“I love you, James.”

And then the line had gone dead, and Bucky was alone once more.

*

Tony cautiously stepped onto the dirt pathway and out of the safety the trees provided, eyes scanning for any possible threat even as he hoisted his rifle onto his shoulder, looking through the scope at the farmhouse- it was no more than a mile away, looking more than a little damaged, but there didn't appear to be any Chitauri nearby.

Of course, Tony knew better than most that looks could be deceiving.

But hope, oh it was such a terrible thing.

He hadn't allowed himself to feel it but now it was crushing him, making his hands shake and his breaths rattle loudly in his chest, heartbeat elevating in anticipation.

His soulmark throbbed in time with his heartbeat, as if it were an entirely separate entity hellbound on finding it’s other half.

Slowly and oh so cautiously, he made his way to the farmhouse, running the last few feet when he was sure he was safe, giving up all pretenses of caution in his desperate hopes that James had somehow made it here, had somehow journeyed halfway across the country and got here, maybe- maybe they could be together once again, maybe they could hold each other, maybe they could kiss, maybe they could love-

Of course, as it was of many before him, that hope had been his downfall.

*

Bucky sat quietly, waiting.

He’d heard footsteps outside and if he'd learned anything during his stay here, it's that footsteps meant one of two things: Chitauri, or psychotic sympathizers.

He'd had the unfortunate meeting with the both of them, multiple times.

So he sat waiting by the door, listening to the labored breaths and rushed footsteps as the outsider got closer, closer still, until finally they were bursting in the door, into the darkness of the house and Bucky- he let the training take over.

Slammed a fist into a surprisingly muscled yet soft abdomen- human- grinning at the gasp of surprised pain he gained, swinging a fist up to catch the person's jaw- male, going by the timbre of his voice- only to have his flesh and blood hand stopped halfway as it slammed into something metal which... _ow._

He snapped his hand out, grabbing onto a metal...gauntlet?- he wasn't sure, it was too dark to see properly- and squeezed, surprised at how difficult it was to bend the metal yet relishing in the cry of pain it earned him when the metal became too tight.

But then something was bashing into his head, and he wasn't sure what it was but it _hurt_ , and two booted feet were ramming into his chest and sending him flying back and into the window, hard enough that he broke the wood boarding it up, letting sunlight stream in so he could finally see his attacker-

“Tony?!”

And there he was: Tony Stark in all his strong glory, staring wide-eyed at Bucky, a metal frying pan held tightly in his right hand, the left held awkwardly near his chest in a partially dented, very familiar red and gold gauntlet, framed by light and cast in shadow, and God, he was beautiful, Bucky hadn't seen him in _weeks_ , he wasn't even sure he was _alive_ , and now here he was, flesh and blood and breathing-

“Oh my god, James!”

And then there were arms around him, clutching him tight, fingers touching and pressing, feeling over his body, everywhere, to make sure he was okay and Bucky was so overwhelmed he didn't know what else to do as he frantically checked Tony over for injuries, making sure he was really here, this wasn't some messed up dream, that he wasn’t going to wake up brutally without Tony once more.

And when he was sure, he just stared, taking in the shadows beneath Tony’s eyes, the dirt and bruises, the scar sliced across his cheekbone, the blood matting his hair, the ripped clothing and strong scent of earth clinging to him and- god, he was beautiful and he was here and-

“Christ, just kiss me, you idiot!” Tony exclaimed and then launched himself forward, crushing his lips against Bucky’s.

It lacked all finesse or grace, was really just a clashing of teeth and smashing of lips, and Bucky thinks his teeth may have drawn blood, but-

But it was perfect.

Not because it was _the kiss,_ but because it was Tony.

And here, together, they could battle the entire world.

*

_Three Months Later…._

“Maybe, but if we….”

Tony tuned Steve out as he talked, eyeing James, who seemed just about invested in Steve’s words as he did.

Nodding his head in the direction of their tent, Tony slipped away while their captain was busy, pushing aside the flap of their tent and slipping quietly inside.

James followed soon after, arms winding around Tony’s waist and hugging him close, face pressed into the back of his neck, mouthing gently at the hot, taut skin beneath his lips.

“He's gonna talk forever,” James murmured, stroking his hand along Tony’s stomach.

“Mm,” Tony hummed noncommittally, head tipping back into James’ shoulder, leaning into the warmth his lover’s body provided, groaning softly as James rolled his hips forward into Tony’s ass with an appreciative hum.

“Stop that,” Tony chastised, smacking half heartedly at James’ hands. “We've got a mission in twenty minutes.”

“So?”

“So if you think that's enough time, we clearly need to have a discussion about what is considered good sex.”

James snorted but also stopped his movements, instead seeming content to just hold him, before murmuring softly,

“We might not make it.”

“You're right,” Tony agreed.

“We might not pull it off.”

“I know.”

“Will it have been worth it?”

Tony thought for a moment- all the pain, all the death, all the loss...it had already happened to so many, had already affected so many lives, could they stand to lose more? Could they survive if they did?

 _Was_ it worth it?

He knew the answer immediately. He didn’t need to question it, didn’t need to question James or himself.

“Absolutely,” Tony said with a firm nod. James nodded, like he agreed.

“Alright then, doll, let’s go kick us some alien ass.”

And so they did.

Of course, nothing was ever that simple, for them.

Infiltrating the base had been easy- too easy, they all agreed.

Sure, they'd gone stealth, but there was no way the Chitauri wouldn't have noticed them coming- they weren't quite that stupid, unfortunately.

So getting in was too easy.

Setting the bombs was decidedly much more difficult.

Halfway through, the army of Chitauri they had missed getting in suddenly swarmed them- their little team of six, surrounded.

Of course, Tony always had a plan B.

And that plan was currently strapped to his chest.

So off he went, over half their little army following him because he- he was the threat they knew, the one who shoved a bomb in their ship and let them burn- the one who killed off half their race in one last, desperate attempt at saving humanity.

And he'd do it again, in a heartbeat.

He heard his team, calling after him.

James, shouting at him with desperation in his voice and his heart laid bare in his cries of Tony’s name.

Tony’s chest ached with it, with the strength of the bond, the _pain_ in James’ voice.

But he didn't look back.

No, he knew if he did, he'd stop running and right now, the only thing he could do was keep going and drown out the sound of his soulmates broken voice.

So he kept running, the sound of the Chitauri close, so close, behind him. And when he knew he was far enough away, he spun on his heel, startling the Chitauri into stopping, freezing for no longer than a second, but that was going to cost him because that’s all he needed and as his fingers dug around in his pocket, he snarled:

“ _This is for for seven billion of them_.”

They scrambled, shouted, shot.

But it was too late.

His finger found the little plastic square, the small nub on top, flipped the glass top off (the plan was foolproof, he’d connected the bomb to his reactor, no one would survive) and, with closed eyes and a calm heart, he pressed the button.

*

Bucky screamed.

That's the only way he knew how to categorize the sound that ripped from his mouth as the building shook and crumbled before him, going up in a blaze with his lover, his fucking _soulmate_ still trapped inside.

Once Steve had realized what had happened, he’d dragged everyone else out, tears pooled in his eyes but not falling- he hadn't cried since Sam died- but Bucky had no such reservations.

He sobbed, screamed and shouted, trying to shove his friend away but it was no use, and even then…

“We're too late, Buck, there's no way he could have survived that. I'm so _fucking_ sorry, but we're too late.”

_Too late...too late...too late._

It echoed.

They were dead, the war was over.

Tony had done that, given them the chance they needed, the final blow to take out the entire fucking race.

There would be stragglers, he knew.

They could take care of them.

As he collapsed to his knees and sobbed, the arms of his best friend around him, he decided he would do his fucking best to ensure Tony’s _death_ meant something.

Bucky had heard it seconds before he’d gotten out, the shouted echo of exactly who that was for and God, his soulmate was- was-

-dead.

Perfect, beautiful, and fucking gone.

And Bucky was alone.

No, no. Not alone, he had to remind himself. He- he had Steve and Natasha, and Bruce and Clint.

But he was-

His soulmate was gone.

His second half, and he had never felt so...defeated. Broken.

Not even after he'd gotten his head back from Hydra.

And that was...fuck, that was saying something.

He refused to believe it.

“ _NO_ ,” He screamed at the burning building. “No, you fuckin’ bastard, you don’t get to _do_ this to me!”

“Buck-” Steve tried, but Bucky wasn’t listening.

“I _trusted_ you, I _loved_ you, you can’t just _leave!_ Not now! Not after all we went through to get each other back!”

Tears were cascading down his cheeks and he couldn’t breathe with the force of his sobs, _willing_ his soulmate to still be alive, to have somehow survived a blast that he had caused, that-

“Buck, Bucky, look!” Steve snapped, forcefully turning his head back in the direction of the burning building and he didn’t want to look, didn’t _want to_ , but- but…

But then he saw it.

The blinding golden light, slowly growing, a piercing scream of white static obliterating all other sounds until that was all he could hear and god did it _hurt_ , his head was all fuzzy, his chest was burning in agony, like his heart was ripping in two and distantly, he noted his own body was glowing the same gold as the ever growing gold of the building, when suddenly the light threw itself outward, and the sound got louder and then-

-then there was darkness.

*

Tony awoke in the middle of a smoldering building, completely naked, surrounded by debris.

The first thing he noticed was his soulmark, now a metallic gold instead of black.

The second thing he noticed was that the arc reactor was just- gone, smooth, tanned skin replacing where the hunk of metal and light had been, as were all the scars he’d had scattered across his body. Just...poof. Gone.

The third thing he noticed is that he’s fucking _alive_.

With a full, gasping breath, he jolted upright and scrambled to his feet, wavering unsteadily as he looked around dumbly- there was a clean circle around him, about ten feet wide, completely untouched by fire or debris, and the trees as far as the eye could see were flattened completely.

His eyes immediately latched onto a figure racing towards him and- and he would recognize them anywhere, the glint of the metal arm, the wild locks of hair, the terrified gleam of steel blue eyes.

And suddenly he was tackled, arms wrapping tight around him, his own arms full of a sobbing James and- no, he had no idea what was happening, what had happened, only that some way, somehow, James had saved him.

And for now, that was enough.

*

Things weren’t perfect, and they didn’t get their fairy-tale ending.

While most of the Chitauri were annihilated in that blast, a few hundred were not.

The Avengers were back, mostly whole, and they had dealt with them.

They’d rebuilt the world, as soon as they could.

They’d figured out that Tony had been saved by the pure belief James had thrown at him, that James heart and soul had split in two and Tony had taken it in, that James had been willing to give the ultimate sacrifice to show their true love and that was, however cliche it sounds, what had saved him.

There were still sympathizers, and the human race was down by billions.

So no, they didn’t get their happily ever after.

But, looking around, Tony's eyes landed on Natasha and Clint, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tended to do; and at Steve, who was gazing around at his team as if he couldn't believe they'd made it; at Bruce, who was staring peacefully out across the half rebuilt city, bathed in gentle oranges and pinks from the setting sun; and finally, to James, who was behind him with his arms wrapped firmly around Tony’s waist, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, and he knew then that they did come pretty damn close.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my piece for the WinterIron Bang. Hope you enjoy!


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